Tuesday Updates: A Girl’s Home is Her Castle

Since moving into one corner of a medieval castle in the north of England three years ago, I’ve been living the dream. Apparently, the dream is really, really cold and occasionally in a foreign language. Who knew? But I’ve had a few requests to tell about my life as an American expat, so I’ll try to start posting these updates on Tuesdays.

Medieval Toilet. (Don’t ask about the toilet paper. Trust me.)

The main thing to remember about living in a 1000+ year old pile of stone is that the builders were a lot more concerned with discouraging visits from Vikings and Scots than with heat and er… sanitation.

But thanks to the sympathetic current owners of the castle, a new kitchen and bathroom took us past the original builders’ idea of facilities. And I got used to sleeping under three down duvets with a British hottie. On cold nights, I sleep with two of them.

British Microwave Hotties. (No, I’m not interested in hearing what you thought I meant.)

In case you’re planning to visit me, you might want an idea of what to wear for a trip to a country castle. This is what the Wall St. Journal thinks. They are so wrong.

NO. Unless you plan to wear all of it (his and hers) at once. In July.

This is what I suggest.

YES. (And the beauty of this ensemble is that it’s also what you’ll wear to bed.)

When you’re visiting, here is how we’ll start a typical day:

I think that gravestone says “Froze to death waiting for the dog to find an acceptable place to piddle”

0’dark:30—the dog leaps straight from her bed to mine (or yours if the castle ghost, the White Lady, has popped in to open your door. Yes, the same door you carefully closed, locked, and probably secured with a chair under the knob. Ghosts don’t get out much, so their sense of humor is somewhat stunted…) The dog shares the breaking news. “It’s time. I hafta. Go NOW! Up, up, up. What part of pee-now do you people not get? And by the way, as long as you’re up, I wouldn’t turn down a bowl of kibble.” One of the good things about sleeping with so many clothes on is that you just have to grab the keys, leash, and wellies. (One of these Tuesday updates will be a paean to the glory that is the British Wellie.) Although there is no actual network signal around the castle, you should bring your phone so you can use its flashlight app to find the steaming pile the dog refuses to produce until she’s sniffed every single damn blade of grass in the meadow and churchyard surrounding the castle because, of course, this is the north of England which won’t see actual dawn for about four more hours. (Hey, I don’t want to hear your opinion of run-on sentences. It’s friggin early and we haven’t even had coffee.) Where was I?Oh, yeah. We stagger back to the flat and the exhausted dog collapses in one of the beds she keeps in every room. Tough morning; she needs a nap.

We make coffee. Industrial-strength.

I love you Mr. Milkman

When the coffee is ready, I realize that we went blindly past the milk that Mr. Milkman left at the portcullis, and we have a stare-down to see who will cave and go back down for the milk: the polite guest (you) or the polite hostess (ha, ha, ha, you’re funny, you are). BTW, I’ve never met him, and I really hope Mrs. Milkman doesn’t mind, but I’m in love with Mr. Milkman. He slips in even before the dog gets up, leaving adorable little bottles of organic milk, plus eggs, and rolls of butter wrapped in brown paper. We communicate via notes twisted up and poked into empty bottles I leave for him at the gate. It’s one of my all-time purest, most satisfying relationships.

My gorgeous French Émigré with the heart of darkness…

Coffee in hand, it’s time for you to witness the other significant relationship in my castle life. I’m not going to say who is dom and who is sub, but I spend a disturbing amount of my time on my knees in front of my sophisticated, elegant French partner, blowing until he’s burning hot (yes, I did write that…) and then returning every few hours to fulfill his needs again. Sometimes, even though I think I’m doing everything right, he knows I need to be punished and he’ll vent his wrath in black oily smoke pouring back into the flat. This sets off the castle fire alarm system, which means I have only minutes to (grab keys/wellies) race down the circular stairs, through the basement, up the other stairs, down the main hall, and over to the fire system in time to call off the emergency vehicles about to be dispatched. That system is clearly in cahoots with the angry Frenchie up in my living room, so I have to stand there for a few hours repeatedly pressing the “clear” button until they reluctantly agree to shut the f-up.

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62 thoughts on “Tuesday Updates: A Girl’s Home is Her Castle”

I’ll have to search your archives so find out how you wound up living in England (I’m guessing white slavery?), but this post makes it sound utterly charming. And by “utterly charming” I mean “horrible and cold, very cold.” 😉

I had a difficult enough time adjusting to the cultural sea-change that moving from New Haven to Philadelphia entailed–not sure if I could handle switching continents.

Hi Barb, I seem to remember that once upon a time you extended an invitation to visit. Does this still stand? My sister-in-law is frequently in England for her job and occasionally my brother takes time off from his job as a bank attorney to travel with her. Would it be okay with you for me to refer them to your email address where you might strike up a conversation? I thoroughly enjoy your notes on living in England. My great-grandfather was born there and I like to think I have a small connection with the “old country.”

Hi, Linda, So nice to hear from you. Of course I’d love to hear from your family. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be in the castle, but our next adventure will be just as much fun (and perhaps–dare I hope? A thermostat?) How are things going with you? Have you (theoretically) poisoned any more presidents lately?

The castle is a private home, so it wouldn’t show up on anything like the Trust sites. But it is incredibly fun, especially for an American, to get to be here. I’ve had castle tea parties, hosted a ceilidh, had people whose first name is “Sir” take me on tours of their family pile, and met the Prince of Wales at a party at his house. It’s a part of England that I know I could never have seen under any other circumstances, and I’m so, so grateful.

I would love to come and visit. Don’t know if I could live there. My GA blood and Florida acclimation might make that challenging. It seems the kind of place my historical nature could take a fancy to, really inspirational.

Our ghost is just not nearly as with it as yours. But yes, this is an honest-to-Ivanhoe castle, although it was gothic-upped by the victorians. As far as I can tell, we live in the old housekeeper’s quarters, if that makes you feel any better.

One of my sisters has a time-share in Mexico which she’s traded for a week at a gorgeous old abbey in Ireland. (I know — trading Cabo for Ireland in the dead of winter… Oddly enough, she had NO trouble making that trade.) So I’m going to meet her there and can’t wait. She keeps making lists of educational things to do there. I’m making a pub list. Detailed.

We were moving to the area for my husband’s job and got lost. In the States, there would be signs from fifty miles away pointing to a castle, but we just came around a corner and there it was. So we were standing outside with our mouths hanging open and happened to meet the owner. One thing led to another, and we ended up moving in. It was so lucky, because we didn’t just get a romantic (if chilly) place to live, but we also got a tiny village full of charming, hilarious, interesting people. Win-win!

Lovely…having been away on Tuesday I only just got here! This so reminds me of my first years in Italy (1970 until around 1988) until I finally moved into an apartment with real heating. Ah the luxury of going to bed in pajamas.

The situation brought to life those old movies, where we’d see the people going to bed with night caps and kerchiefs! What about the lovely hot water bottles, I’d also a warming pan for awhile…it’s a grand idea to have curtains round your bed too…though I’ve never had any, I could understand the logic in it.

Now I live in a 400 year old stone house (it was rebuilt after the great fire in..who remembers the date?) in the center of a small village not far from lake Garda…but here’s the nice part…we bought the thing back in ’94 and then refurburshed it with heating and a fireplace before actually taking up residence in the living area. But blast it, gotten so used to the cold that when it’s 16° C it actually feels warm. 😉

Reblogged this on Bastet and Sekhmet's Library and commented:
I do so love to read Barb’s adventures in England. Being an expat myself it’s really fun to sit back and remember the times when being an American expat was a novelty…and Barb tell the story with just the right amount of irony and humor as she takes us a on walk through her life…alla European, in this case…jolly old England!

The amazing thing — incredible, really — is to get up in the morning and walk past the keep with the sun coming up and think, “WTF? A castle? Seriously?” Thanks so much for the reblog. I really appreciate it!

Castles are soooooooo cool (uhm litereally) but I agree with you it is magical living in a place where history is more than grandpa’s farm, though that has a flavour of it’s own. (Btw…loved the john!) The thrill doesn’t wear off, or at least it hasn’t worn off me.

What a wonderful experience you’re having, living in a castle and in another country. That will give you loads of writing material for years to come, once your fingers warm up enough to write them out! But, at least according to the British shows on TV here in the US, someone’s gonna die. In fact, while I’ve been to the UK a dozen times, I am afraid to go back. Because the Brits seem to be a murderous lot!

I lived as an ex-Pat in Switzerland/France near Geneva for 5 years, I still feel the chill of the lack of central heating from time to time. I was never without something warm to drink in my hands. Never!

So far I’ve been lucky — no deaths (except for poor Bridget the White Lady ghost). Alas, we’re moving on to a “new” victorian mews house in Glasgow, so the castle won’t be blog fodder much longer. Do you miss the ex-pat years in Switzerland?

You’ve probably had a warmer winter than most of us here in the US!
I would love to live in a castle. We stayed in a B&B in Ireland that had a castle on the property.
Watch out for those ghosts. Every once in a while they demand a little attention!!!
Thanks for bringing this to the party! Have fun and don’t forget to dance!

I love that you do these parties. Alas, I’m saying goodbye to the ghosts this weekend as we move on to our next adventure, a “new” victorian in Glasgow. No ghosts that we know of, but it does have central heating. We’re giddy with excitement.

Hi Barb! HIlarious, cold and charming all at the same time. I especially like the bit about the milkman. Being a foodie, that lovely butter wrapped in brown paper looks so enticing! Thanks for sharing this link on Susie’s blog.

Stopped by from Susie’s blog. As beautiful as this all sounded, I’m allergic to the cold. It’s what drove me from Chicago to Florida. As for those British hotties, they sound very useful. With all the cold weather up north, this may be something not limited to GB!

I loved learning more about the castle, but the cold is definitely a drawback. My “hottie” here in coooold New York is a rice bag that you put in the microwave. I’m kind of dependent on it now! Good luck on your next adventure–hope you keep writing! 🙂

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